The Empty House
by FryConfesses
Summary: In the aftermath of The Reichenbach Fall, John finds himself drawn back to 221b Baker Street.  When he discovers a client there waiting for him, it's the start of an all new adventure.  Spoilers for series 2, including TRF. Read and Review please!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there! This is an idea that came to me this evening and I have been working on it ever since. This is based after the episode _The Reichenbach Fall_ and spoilers start pretty much from that first sentence. Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoy it. This chapter sets the scene, establishes a minor case - taken from the ACD short story, _The Adventure of the Norwood Builder_****, which is one of my favourite Holmes short stories, however, it will then move on to cover _The Adventure of the Empty House_.**

**I have tweaked parts of this to make it more modern and to correct a couple of errors. Chapter 2 is coming later.**

**All of you waiting for more Excalibur, it is coming. I'm sorry for the wait. **

**All characters belong primarily to Arthur Conan Doyle, secondly to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC, and physical appearances belong to the actors in question.**

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><p>Ever since Sherlock Holmes had fallen from the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital, John Watson had not returned to 221B Baker Street. It had been at least half a year, he mused, when his feet fell into old routines, and he found himself turning the corner into Baker Street. He had spoken to Mrs Hudson, their landlord, who had told him that their rooms were still being held. He wondered whether Sherlock had instructed her to keep them, as the traffic buzzed past him along the busy street, until Mycroft had cleared out the rooms. He approached the familiar black door with the bustling Speedy's café next door and rummaged around in his pockets to find the key and unlocked it.<p>

He almost expected to hear the violin playing as he entered, although the dreary silence was more than expected as he entered 221b Baker Street. The corridor was impeccably clean, but signs of his and Sherlock's occupation of the flat upstairs could be seen, such as the scratch marks along the stairwell from when Mrs Hudson had been dragged upstairs by two CIA operatives during the case that the public had known as the Case of The Woman. He walked up the stairs, remembering every creaking board of the stairs. He could hear two people talking, one of them the calm and collected voice of Mrs Hudson, with another voice that he didn't recognise. He pushed the white door open into the living room of his flat. Stunned by the bright light, he was confronted with the silhouette of what he thought was Sherlock.

Blinking, he was brought back to senses and his vision returned to reveal that what he had though was Sherlock happened to be mannequin, wearing a wig and one of Sherlock's dressing gowns, standing at the window with the curtain drawn across it. Mrs Hudson rushed over to him with a broad smile on his face.

"John! I haven't seen you since the funeral! How are you? I heard you started your own practice!" She stated excitedly. "If you told me you were coming round, then I would have got something in!"

"Thanks Mrs Hudson, but I wasn't intending on staying long. Yes, I have started my own practice and I'm fine thanks, Mrs H."

John's attention was diverted on to the man in the armchair facing into the kitchen, who rose and straightened the crease out of his navy jacket and outstretched his hand, "Hector McFarlane. Doctor Watson, I presume?"

John Watson shook it hesitantly. The man had a receding hairline and a sandy moustache with flecks of grey in it and was only about a head taller than John. He was wearing a dark red t-shirt under his navy jacket along with a pair of dark trousers.

"Hector's a friend, but he came here hoping to find you," Mrs Hudson told John, beginning to move towards the stairs. John stopped her.

"Well that's funny, I didn't even know that I would be here today. And what's the deal with the mannequin?" He replied in hushed tones.

"Well, after Sherlock died, Mycroft came over and told me what to do. He said that people were watching the house, still, even though Sherlock was dead. He set up the mannequin, which I move slightly every half an hour or so, and it casts a silhouette on the curtain. So far, no one's noticed." Mrs Hudson replied in hushed tones, before moving down the stairs.

Hector smiled at him, and the two sat down in the chairs beside the coffee table.

"What seems to be the problem?" John asked the sandy haired man, as he poured himself a cup of tea from the flowery pot in the middle of the table.

"Well, I used to read your blog all the time, until the entries stopped. You're not a stupid man, are you, Doctor Watson?" He asked rhetorically. "I never believed the stories that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud – it's just not believable. But now he's dead and I was hoping that you had learnt something from him. When I heard that you two were tenants of Marie, then I thought you might be able to help me with a spot of bother I'm having." Hector stated.

"I'm all ears," John replied, pouring some milk into his cup. He was suddenly aware that Hector McFarlane was on edge; he was sat on the edge of his chair and as he reached to pick up his own cup of tea, it rattled in the saucer.

"Doctor Watson, I am the unhappy Hector John McFarlane. If they come for me, Dr. Watson, please don't let them take me! Make them give me time, so that I can tell you the whole truth. I would go to jail happy if I knew that you were working for me outside."

John looked surprised and extremely interested. "Arrest you, Mr McFarlane! What do you expect to be accused of?"

Hector McFarlane pulled out the Daily Telegraph from the pocket of his black coat that was spread over the back of his armchair. He showed John a story on the fifth page, the main headline of which was _Disappearance of a Well Known Builder_. "They are following a clue that they believe will lead them to me. I believe myself to have been followed from London Bridge Station and I am sure that the Police are working to get a warrant to arrest me, Doctor Watson!"

"Why do they believe it was you?"

"Joseph Oldacre, the builder in question, lives in Norwood. I visited his house last night under unusual circumstances. Shortly after I left, the small timber yard at the back of Mr Oldacre's house was set ablaze. When the fire brigade had attempted to subdue the fire, the police on the scene started to suspect arson. Oldacre didn't appear despite the blaze and when the police attempted to find him, there was indication of a fight. As I was the last person to see the victim alive and there was evidence that I was there, I am seen to be the key suspect. However, I did not even know that Joseph Oldacre was dead until I came into work from Blackheath." Hector replied, his voice began to crack and a tear to form in the corner of one of his blue eyes.

"So, how are you able to justify your innocence, Hector? It does appear that the authorities have enough evidence to justify your arrest."

"I had business late with Oldacre last night in Norwood and thus had to stay in a hotel there before going into work at the solicitors' firm, Graham and McFarlane. I knew that Marie knew you, and I figured that you would just have a feeling that something was going on to do with Sherlock Holmes. My life is in your hands."

He jumped as the door to 221b Baker Street was flung open. John ran over to the window, and looking out could see a police car parked outside, lights flashing. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, as Detective Inspector Lestrade hurried up the stairs, followed by two officers. The dark haired detective's hair was greying and his face was more stubbled than John ever remembered seeing it before.

"Mr Hector John McFarlane?" Lestrade asked, as John's client rose, his face now white as a sheet. "I arrest you on suspicion of the wilful murder of Mr. Joseph Oldacre." Turning to face John, Lestrade seemed surprised to see him there. "Hello, John."

"Lestrade, wait!" John yelled, as the two officers cuffed Hector. "He was about to tell me why he did not do it – therefore giving us evidence that would clear this entire case up!"

"Very well. Speak, Mr McFarlane. But rest assured, Doctor Watson," Lestrade stated, his tone turning cold, "Mr McFarlane is my prisoner and will remain in custody until you have found substantial evidence to prove that he didn't do it. There is enough evidence for me to safely say that we have got our man!"

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><p><strong>This is all for tonight folks! But don't worry, Sherlock will be returning soon. And I am still getting to grips with writing Lestrade and John, but it'll get better, I promise.<strong>

**Read and Review, please.**


	2. Chapter 2

John sat down in one of the chairs by the coffee table, whilst Lestrade stood by the fireplace, for the handcuffed man to tell his side of the story. The two police officers stood by, waiting for Lestrade to order them to take Hector McFarlane away.

"Yesterday, Mr Oldacre came to my office at the solicitors' office where I work, without any previous announcement, at about three o clock. My parents had known him; however, all contact had broken off between them and him for several years. He gave me several sheets of paper, covered in scribbled writing, told me it was his will and he demanded for me to cast it into proper legal shape. If you reach into my bag, Doctor Watson, you will find the sheets which made up his will." John leaned over to the bag and drew them out. Lestrade moved from the fireplace to read the document over John's shoulder.

"But if he didn't know you, why on Earth are you his sole benefactor?" Lestrade asked, a frown creasing his forehead.

"I was as amazed as you are, Detective Inspector. He fixed me with his grey eyes and told me that he was a bachelor with no family, that thanks to his previous relationship with my parents in his youth and he had heard that I was a deserving young man. I thanked him and the will was finished, signed, stamped and witnessed by my clerk. If you look in my bag again, Detective Inspector, you will find it on the blue sheets of paper." Lestrade moved his mouth as if to say something, however, caught John's eye and stopped. "Oldacre told me that there were more documents that it was essential that I understood and that he would not feel comfortable until the whole thing was settled. So I arranged to visit his home in Norwood last night, bringing the will with me. He instructed me not to tell his parents anything about where I was going, so I texted them and let them know that I had business that was running late."

"Have you any idea why your parents and Mr Oldacre drifted apart?" Lestrade asked.

"None whatsoever. I got to Norwood for 9p.m, and Oldacre provided me with supper."

"Did anyone other than Oldacre let you in?" John asked, breaking the silence he maintained while Hector had been telling the story.

"No, he opened the door, took my coat and hung it up on the wall, and then we discussed business. I left about 12"

"So how did the press and the police know that you were there last night?" John asked again.

"I left my walking stick in his room. It had my name on it, so the Police have jumped to their conclusions."

"Anything more you'd like to ask, John?" Lestrade asked.

"No thanks, Greg. I'll head over to Norwood later today. There's someone I have got to see first."

"Very well. Good to see you again, Doctor Watson," Lestrade stated. "I shall see you at Norwood. Mr McFarlane, you're coming with me." He frogmarched Hector out of the room, followed by the two officers.

"Oh, Greg." John called after him. "Three unsolved murder cases in six months simply won't do." Lestrade paused, before continuing out of 221b.

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><p>After Lestrade had left 221b Baker Street, John hailed a cab, then directed it to the Diogenes Club. They arrived promptly, the traffic was good and he entered the stony silent club that Mycroft Holmes belonged to. The doorman took one look at him, and gestured at the imperial looking staircase coated in majestic crimson carpets. John walked up the steps almost reverentially until he reached the top, where gold framed portraits leered down at him as if they know he shouldn't have been there.<p>

Mycroft Holmes opened the door to the Strangers' Room, to the left of the top of the staircase and beckoned John to come in. Mycroft shut the door carefully behind him.

"Good to see you again, John. What brings you here?"

John sat down in one of the most comfortable armchairs in front of a crackling fire and looked at the newspapers stacked on top of the table to the side of his chair.

"Well, Mycroft, I found myself back at Baker Street today, without telling anyone I was going to be there and I found a client." John picked up the top most paper on the stack and pointed to a small column on the front page about the unfortunate young gentlemen he had been speaking to just moments before.

"Ah, yes, well, John, I had the idea planted in your head – you had a patient today who claimed to work in a bakery on Baker Street, didn't you?"

"How did you know that?"

"She was one of my people. I have been planting the idea in your head for the last week. Then when I saw this newspaper article, I instructed Mr McFarlane to find you, Doctor Watson, at 221b Baker Street."

"But I can't help Hector McFarlane, Mycroft!" John yelled. "I'm not Sherlock, I'm not. Sherlock is brilliant at this. Sherlock would probably have called this a three patch problem and have it solved before this evening. With me, this man is probably going to spend the rest of his life in prison!"

Mycroft's face imitated concern. "I understand, John. But you must have learnt something from my younger brother. Head to Norwood and examine the scene, Doctor Watson. You might well be surprised."

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><p>Doctor John Watson left the Diogenes Club and hailed another taxi to take him to Norwood. As the cab drove off, he could have sworn he could have seen run into the Diogenes Club wearing a coat like Sherlock's. He turned again and the person was gone.<p> 


End file.
